The Hour of the Troll
by Speaker-to-Customers
Summary: Willow's spell to banish Olaf to the Land of the Trolls goes awry and sends him to the Hyborian Age. Olaf meets Conan the Barbarian and gets involved in the affairs of a small city-state with a dying king, two rival temples, and two beautiful princesses.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights to Olaf the Troll remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episode, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television show. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox. The works of Robert E. Howard, including the _Conan_ stories, are in the public domain according to United Kingdom copyright law. In the United States the copyright is claimed by Conan, Inc. and by Paradox Entertainment Inc.

**The Hour of the Troll**

**Chapter One**

_Know, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars._

_Hither came Olaf the Troll, orange-haired, sullen-eyed, hammer in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his fur-booted feet._

_Let me tell you of those days of high adventure…_

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A tall figure made his way through the narrow alleys of Yarmouk. He was clad after the fashion of an officer of mercenaries, in hauberk of ring-mail and cloak of Ophirean scarlet, and an Aquilonian broadsword hung at his waist. A recurved Hyrkanian bow was slung across his broad shoulders. Atop his head sat a horned helm in the style of the Aesir. Locks of dark hair emerged from the helmet and brushed his mailed shoulders, and blue eyes smoldered beneath his brows. He was Conan, a Cimmerian, who had wandered far from his cold Northern homeland in search of riches and adventure. He was yet a young man but a veteran of a score of pitched battles, a hundred skirmishes, and individual combats beyond all counting. The locals turned their heads to watch as he strode by.

Conan cocked his head as he heard a commotion in the market-place ahead. Bellows of rage, shrill shrieks and cries, and the crash of breaking wood. There was no clash of steel, and so the warrior deduced that this was a mere brawl; no invaders had penetrated the city, no revolt raged in the streets, only some dispute between locals or perhaps mercenaries like himself. He strode on toward the sound of the disturbance.

When he emerged into the market-place he could see the fight that was in progress. The central figure was as strange a man as Conan had seen in all his wanderings. A full head taller even than the mighty barbarian, broad of shoulder and with a chest like a barrel, the brawler was tossing his opponents through the air with an ease that spoke of immense strength. Yet his size was the least of the man's notable features, for his skin was of a greenish hue, and from his head protruded a pair of horns.

Conan's eyebrows rose. He lowered a hand to the hilt of his broadsword, ready to battle the monster, but then relaxed and moved his hand away. Despite the strange appearance of the huge man he was no monster, no demon creature from the outer darkness or the pits of Stygia, for his battle-roars were those that a mercenary would utter in like circumstances.

"Puny ones!" shouted the horned man. "Pelt me with fruit and various meats, would you? I shall pummel you without mercy. I shall pillage your vegetable stalls and fish counters, I shall rattle your teeth in your skulls, and I shall make merry feast upon your more attractive haunches of venison!" Suiting the action to the words, he brought down a massive fist upon the head of a trader, sending the man crashing to the ground, and then seized another man who sought to smite him with a stool. He hurled the man high into the air, so that he landed upon the awning that shielded a market stand from the sun, and then tossed back his huge head and roared with mirth.

Conan grinned. The man with the horned head, despite his monstrous aspect, appeared to be a man after Conan's own heart – and not in the sense in which various evil High Priests had been after Conan's heart at various times in the past. The grin vanished as he saw one of the market traders, dirty and bedraggled and with a smear of blood from his lip to his ear, reach into a barrel beside his stall and pull forth a wicked, foot-long, poniard. Conan frowned. The use of the deadly weapon would turn the harmless brawl into something altogether different. The merchant approached the horned man from behind with the dagger poised to strike. The giant was holding a defeated foe by the collar with one hand, the legs of the captive dangling two feet from the ground, and shaking the man as he laughed. He was unaware of the peril that approached.

Conan rushed forward. He grabbed the trader by the arm and squeezed with savage force. "Cowardly dog, would you draw steel against an unarmed man?" he growled. The shopkeeper yelped and the dagger fell to the ground.

The horned giant whirled around at the sound, his free hand clenched into a massive fist, but he relaxed as he saw what had transpired. "So, there is a true warrior in this city, I see, and not just mewling babes," he said. He tossed aside his catch and sent the townsman crashing down upon a stall laden with farm produce. The impact shattered the table and catapulted fruit upwards. The huge man snatched a flying apple from the air and grinned at Conan. "I thank you, black-haired one," the giant said. "I did not see that the tiny man had a knife."

Conan dipped his head briefly and smiled. "You can buy me a drink in yonder tavern," he suggested.

"Alas," said the horned man, "I have no coin of this land. I sought to sell my bracelet of hack-silver but," he waved a hand to indicate the devastated market-place, "none would trade with me."

Conan shrugged. "Then I shall buy drinks for us both, for I have coin in plenty; plunder from my travels in Keshan and Punt." He saw a city guardsman approaching with cautious steps, the point of the man's spear wavering with nervous tremors as he drew nearer to the giant, and Conan pulled a pouch from his belt. He spilled forth a heap of golden coins into his palm and tossed them to the guard. "This shall pay for the damages, man," Conan said airily.

The guardsman knelt to pick up those coins that he had failed to catch. At once he was surrounded by the traders, some still bleeding from broken noses and smashed lips, all eager to stake their claim to the largest share of the barbarian's gold. Conan laughed, turned his back on the market-place, and led his massive new companion toward a tavern.

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"I am Conan, a Cimmerian," the barbarian introduced himself as the pair of warriors took their seats at a tavern table and were served with mugs of ale by a wide-eyed wench. "Who are you and from what far land do you hail?"

"Well met, Conan," the giant responded. "I am Olaf, and I come from the kingdom of Erik Edmundsson, in the country of Svearike, a northern land of ice and snow."

"I have traveled the length and breadth of Hyboria, from Asgard and Vanaheim in the North to the Black Kingdoms in the South, from the Pictish wilderness of the West to Vendhya in the East, and never have I heard of such a land," said Conan, a frown coming to his brows.

"I have heard of none of the lands you name, save that Asgard is the name of the abode of my people's gods," said Olaf. "I suspect that this is not my world, for I was banished from there by an evil witch." He shook his head. "I hate witches," he reminisced. "My wife was a witch, and she turned me into this trollish form that you see, for no more than a little idle dalliance with a barmaid. Another witch then imprisoned me within a jar for centuries until I was set free by a curious chance. I had little opportunity to enjoy my freedom, time only for a single barrel of ale and a brawl or two, before yet a third witch transported me to this land. Perhaps it is for the best, however, if this be a place of bold warriors and battle such as my heart desires."

"Indeed it is such a place," Conan confirmed. "This is the city-state of Yarmouk, a petty kingdom on the border between the realms of Shem and of Koth, one of several. I have been to two other such kingdoms before this one and in each I found battle aplenty. In Khoraja the Princess made me commander of her whole army, for a short time at least, and I rode away with saddle-bags bulging with gold. In Khautan it was I that fell afoul of a witch, who had seized the throne from the Queen her sister, and her consort had me nailed to a tree in the desert." He glanced down at the scars that still showed on the palms of his hands. "Yet I won free, and prevailed, and nailed my enemy to the tree in return."

"Hah! A good vengeance," Olaf said approvingly. "And did you slay the witch too?"

"A comrade of mine drove his sword through her breast," said Conan.

"So perish all witches," said Olaf, and he raised his mug and drank deep. "Tell me more of this city, Conan. Are there witches here? Foes to slay, gold to enrich us, wenches with whom we can make merry sport?"

"I have been here only a short time," Conan replied, "but the signs are good. King Albinus is old and ill, indeed they say that he is on the verge of death, and he has no son. His two daughters contend to be his heirs. Spirited wenches they seem, one fair as a Brythunian and the other dark of hair like a Shemite, both comely maidens. I did not tumble Princess Yasmela of Khoraja nor Queen Taramis of Khautan; perhaps the third of these border states will be the charm and I shall have merry sport, as you say, with one of the princesses."

"And I with the other? Let us hope, then, that such is the way things shall turn out," said Olaf. "If there be princesses, though, then there will be princes seeking their hands, for such is the way of things."

"Indeed so," agreed Conan. "Princes and noblemen from Koth, from Shem, from Argos and from this and other city states. Soft men of the civilized lands, no match for barbarians such as ourselves, and besides it is not the hands of the princesses that interest me."

"True," said Olaf, grinning, "although the dainty hands of a woman may also give pleasure. Yet man may not live by merry sport alone. What gold may be gained here?"

"From pleasure to treasure," Conan said, with an answering grin. "Where factions strive, there may a sell-sword gain riches. There are the two princesses, who may be gathering swords lest their contention become open struggle. There are two rival High Priests, striving for influence at whatever new court arises; or rather a High Priest and a High Priestess, for Mitra is served by a man and Ishtar by a woman. Perhaps there might be profitable employment to be found there. Doubtless there are priests of other gods in the city too, skulking minions of Set plotting doom in dark places, and sorcerers and conjurers of demons working their evil. They would have treasures to be looted. I would not take service under such, though, no matter how well they might pay. Bah! Sacrificers of maidens and babies."

"A waste of both maidens and babies," said Olaf.

"True," said Conan. "Maidens may be tumbled, and babies may grow up to be pretty wenches, staunch comrades, or welcoming innkeepers."

"That was not my thought," said Olaf, "but it is a good one anyway. Yet suppose the babies grow up to be shrewish nags, or cowardly traitors, or mean-spirited innkeepers who water the beer and provide thin blankets?"

"Time enough then to ignore them, or take the sword to them," said Conan.

Olaf nodded. "Indeed so. You are wise, Conan the Cimmerian. We shall smite those who would sacrifice babies."

Conan raised his eyebrows. He had been called many things before but never wise. "We shall put them to the sword, and take the jeweled idols from their blood-stained altars, and sell them to get coin for ale and women," he said. He raised his mug to his lips and drained it. "First we must get you weapons and armor."

"If we may find armor to fit me in this city," said Olaf, "for I am not a common size. A shield and a war-hammer will suffice."

"They should be simple enough to obtain," said Conan, "and then we shall seek employment."

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"When I am ruler of this city I shall fill it with beautiful things," said Princess Basina. She curled her top lip and gazed coldly at Olaf. "There shall be no room for those who are ugly."

Conan narrowed his eyes. "A warrior's worth is not measured by his appearance," he said. He cast a contemptuous glance at the bodyguard who stood a few paces from the princess. The man was tall, his features chiseled, and his fair hair was neatly trimmed. His breastplate gleamed in polished splendor and his sword pommel was of gold. The man's hands lacked calluses, however, and his skin was free of scars. If he had ever seen action outside of a parade ground Conan would be astonished. "Olaf could snap your pretty boy there like a twig," the barbarian told her. "If you wish to have fighting men to back your cause we are the two best in the city."

The princess tossed her head, sending her blonde locks swaying about her pretty face, and frowned at him. "A barbarian and a… giant, compared to true-blooded Kothic knights? I think not. Away with you both!"

Olaf snorted. "The woman is a fool, Conan, and I think that she would be no use even for merry sport. Let us seek employment elsewhere." A chain shirt now covered Olaf's chest, for he had found one made for a warrior of great girth who had died of a surfeit, and although it came down only to his waist instead of his hips it fit him well enough. A helmet crowned his head, with holes new cut through which his horns protruded, and the effect was such that he looked almost human save only for the color of his skin. He hefted his newly acquired mighty war hammer and glared at the bodyguard, causing the man to recoil in alarm, and took a stride toward the door.

"Do not think to join my sister," Basina warned. "The people are with me. She has no chance of ruling and, should she try to take the throne, she will fail. Those who stand with her will be cast out."

"There will be no need to cast me out if you come to the throne," said Conan. "I shall go to Aquilonia to fight the Picts on the western frontier. That would be more pleasant, I deem, than living in a city under your rule. Come, Olaf, let us go. Perhaps one of the High Priests might be a more congenial prospective employer."

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Princess Amestris poured wine from a flagon into three goblets. She passed one to Conan, one to Olaf, and took one for herself. She settled herself on a couch, brushed a strand of her jet-black hair away from her face, and smiled at her visitors. "Either of you would make a fine Captain of the Palace Guard," she told them. "My sister is a fool."

"That is what I said," Olaf agreed. His eyes lingered on Amestris and widened as she leaned forward, pushing a tray laden with meats and pastries closer to the two men, and in the process displayed her assets to considerable advantage. "Guards should strike fear into your enemies, not be mere ornamentation for the palace. There are statues for that purpose."

"Exactly," said Amestris. Her skin was darker than that of her sister, and her nose was somewhat too prominent for her to class as truly beautiful by the standards of the Western lands, but her limbs were long and sleek, her waist was slim, and her breasts were enticingly large. "Alas, I think that I am unlikely to be in a position to select a guard captain. The wealthy and the powerful support my sister's claim to the throne."

"How so?" asked Conan. "You are the elder, and thus the rightful heir, unless things are done very differently in this city than in most other lands that I know."

"That is true," said Amestris, "but my mother died when I was but a child. She was a Shemite woman, and not favored by the Kothic nobility, and Basina's mother was much more pleasing to them. Basina is their choice. The common folk would prefer me, or at least such is my belief, but their opinions count for little in the matter of the crown."

"Huh!" Olaf grunted. He swallowed a piece of meat, washed it down with a mouthful of wine, and wiped his lips. "You would make a much better queen than your sister, who is a cold fish, whereas you have a fine understanding of hospitality to strangers. Give the word and we shall set you upon the throne. We will break the heads of those who oppose you."

Amestris shook her head. "I do not wish the throne at the price of civil war," she said. "The people would suffer, as they always do, and the city would be weakened and made vulnerable to seizure by Koth or Shem. Let Basina have the throne if she wants it so much."

"Then it seems that there is no employment for us here," said Conan, "unless one of the High Priests has a mission for us, or we can find an evil cult to strive against and plunder." He shook his head and picked up a triangle of pastry stuffed with veal. "I thank you for your hospitality, Princess, but we must go."

"I am sorry that your visit was wasted," said Amestris.

"Not wasted," said Olaf, draining the last of his wine and setting down his goblet. "We have shared food and wine with a beautiful princess. No-one could call that a waste of time."

"I thank you," said Amestris, her face breaking into a smile that lit up her face, "but I am well aware that my sister is the beautiful one in the family."

"Hah! She is cold and pale, with narrow hips, and hair like straw," Olaf declared. "You are warm and golden of skin, your hair has the sheen of a raven's wings, and your breasts…"

"Enough!" Amestris cut him off, raising her hand in protest, but her smile was still there and there was laughter in her voice. "I must believe that your flattery is sincere, for I have already told you that I cannot employ you, but you praise me overmuch."

"A woman who serves such pastries deserves much praise," said Conan, "even did you not have such shapely limbs and sparkling eyes."

Amestris laughed aloud. "I did not make the pastries," she pointed out, "I merely had the sense to employ a fine cook. Your words are good for me to hear, and almost you make me rethink my lack of ambition for the throne, that I might appoint both of you to positions of command, but no. The cost would be too high. Finish the meats and pastries if you desire, and drink more wine if such is your will, but then I think that it would be best for you to leave. Perhaps the Priestess of Ishtar might have some task that you could perform. She is my aunt, sister to my late mother, and you may tell her that I recommend you."

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"She would make the better queen, as you say," Conan judged, once they had left the quarters of Princess Amestris, "but we can hardly set her upon the throne against her will."

"True," said Olaf. "'Tis a shame, for she would be a fine queen. Still, there is yet a chance that one of us might make merry sport with her, and that would be a great delight." He rested his hammer upon his shoulder. "To the Priestess of Ishtar, then?"

"I shall leave that to you," said Conan, "and I shall go to the Temple of Mitra. The Mitrans are well-meaning, in my experience, but sometimes nervous of things strange to them. Your appearance might well cause the High Priest to shy away from employing us."

"A good thought," Olaf agreed, "but what if we are both successful and each temple wishes us to attack the other one? I could be employed to fight against you, and you against me. I do not wish that, Conan, for you make a fine shield-brother and I would rather stand beside you in battle."

"The temples of the two gods exist side by side in many cities in this region, and rarely do they come to conflict," Conan said. "I doubt that what you fear will come to pass. If it does, though, we shall get what payment in advance we can and then leave the city. The Aquilonians pay well, and one can earn riches fighting against the Picts, but I fear that there would be few opportunities for, as you term it, merry sport."

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"Conan of Cimmeria," mused the High Priest, Chilperic. "I have heard of you. A ferocious warrior, they say, perhaps the mightiest of all. Did you not take the city of Khoraja by storm?"

"Not by storm," said Conan, "for the populace was on my side. I lured the occupying mercenary army of Constantius forth from the city onto the plain, defeated it there, and then liberating the city with the aid of the townsfolk was but a simple task for my desert warriors."

"You see yourself as a liberator, then?" Chilperic raised an eyebrow. "Your reputation is somewhat different."

"I have slain many, and stolen much," Conan admitted, "but I do not harm the common folk who wish only to live their lives in peace. Rather wouldst I steal from fat merchants, who are as sheep for the shearing, and who make their wealth by gouging their customers. Sorcerers, demon worshippers, and tyrants are those who I seek to slay."

Chilperic nodded slowly. "I may be able to find some of those for you," he said. He went to a table and picked up a jug. "Wine from Argos," he said, beginning to tilt the jug over a goblet.

Conan held up a hand. "Not for me," he said. "I have drunk both wine and ale already this day, and I would keep my head clear until we have done with our discussion."

Chilperic's eyebrows rose once more. "You surprise me, barbarian." He set down the jug and picked up another. "The juices of refreshing fruits," he explained, and poured out a yellowish liquid into two goblets. He picked them up, passed one to Conan, and drank from the other.

Conan sipped at the drink, recognized the taste of a fruit that he had encountered in Zingara, and drank more deeply. "You say there are demon worshippers in this city?" he asked, lowering the goblet. "I trust that you do not mean the Temple of Ishtar, for that goddess is no demon, although the ways of her worshippers are not those of the Mitrans. I speak of those who summon creatures from the pits or from the outer darkness, those who spill the blood of innocents upon their foul altars, and those who seek to corrupt the souls of men."

Chilperic pursed his lips. "Those that I would have you slay are evil beyond all doubt," he declared. "I shall show you proof in a short while."

"Why not now?" Conan asked.

"Very well," Chilperic replied. "Wait here and I shall bring you my evidence." He turned on his heel and walked from the audience chamber.

Conan sat and waited. He looked around the chamber, assessing the value of the statuary therein, and tapped his fingers on the pommel of his broadsword. He finished off the goblet of Zingaran fruit juice, reached out to set it down upon the low table that stood in front of his chair – and missed. His fingers betrayed him and the goblet clattered to the floor. "Crom," he muttered. "The wine that the princess gave us must have been stronger than I thought."

He bent forward to retrieve the fallen cup and found himself slipping from his chair. He clutched at the arm to catch his balance but it did not help and he toppled to the ground. The chair fell beside him with a crash. "Crom's devils!" Conan growled, trying without success to climb to his feet. "I am poisoned. Was it Princess Amestris?" Even as he spoke he realized that he was losing control of his tongue.

High Priest Chilperic re-entered the room. He was not alone; two brawny men in priestly robes followed at his heels. His upper lip curled in a sneer as he saw Conan on the floor. "So, barbarian, the drug has taken effect," he observed. "Your mighty thews are as weak now as those of a new-born babe."

"You!" Conan grunted, his speech coming thickly and at great effort. "What have you done, and why?" He fumbled at the hilt of his sword but could not draw the weapon free.

"The juice of the purple lotus that grows in the swamps of Stygia," the High Priest explained. "It was in your goblet already, barbarian, so that it mattered not whether you drank wine or the juices of fruits." He turned to his acolytes. "Seize him, and carry him down to the crypts," he commanded. "Take care, for even drugged he may yet be dangerous."

"Why?" Conan demanded again.

"You are known to interfere in what does not concern you, barbarian, and I feared that you would oppose my plans," Chilperic replied. "Imagine my delight when you walked in here, unsuspecting, like a fly paying a visit to a spider."

"What deviltry do you plan?" Conan choked out, as the priests dragged him to his feet and bound his arms with cords.

"Deviltry? Nay, the very opposite," Chilperic claimed. "I shall destroy the false priests of Ishtar, who ensnare the gullible with their vile and licentious rituals, and secure this city for the true god Mitra. As for you, Conan the reaver, there are those in Argos, in Ophir, and in Turan who will pay well for you. Argos is closest, of course, and so it is to there that I shall send the news of your capture. You shall be kept in chains until I know if they require you alive or if I can send just your head. Preserved in a keg of salt, perhaps?" He clapped his hands together. "Take him away!"

Conan strained against his bonds but, with his muscles paralyzed by the foul drug, his struggles were futile. The acolytes dragged him from the room and down into the blackness of the crypts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"I fear for Amestris," High Priestess Damaspia told Olaf.

"You think that her pale and uninteresting sister will seek to harm her?" Olaf asked, his brows lowering.

"Perhaps not without prompting by others," said Damaspia, "but those who flock about her like vultures may well urge such a course upon her. Count Eligius, who is the leading suitor for Basina's hand, has spoken against Amestris often." She sighed. "Basina is as beautiful and as brainless as a butterfly."

"I thought her no great beauty," said Olaf. "A scrawny thing, and her smile did not reach her eyes, and her bosom was nothing to boast about. Your niece Amestris is far more attractive, I deem, and surely any red-blooded man would think the same."

Damaspia's lips twitched upward. "Did your eyes even rise as far as her face, or did you gaze only upon her chest?" The High Priestess bore a strong resemblance to her niece, although of course older, and her ample bosom was prominently displayed by the gilded breast-cups and diaphanous robes of her religious office. Olaf's eyes had focused on that area during much of their conversation.

"I saw that her nose was somewhat larger than the average," Olaf admitted, "but then, so are other features of hers far more interesting than a nose."

"I am surprised that you even noticed that she has a nose upon her face," Damaspia said, her eyes twinkling. Her serious expression returned. "I take it, then, that you would be willing to protect her?"

"Of course," Olaf assured her. "Conan will stand by her as well, I am certain."

"Good," said Damaspia. She reached to her girdle and unfastened a leather pouch that was tied there. She tossed it to Olaf, who felt the weight of gold and heard the chink of coins as he snatched the purse from the air. "On the death of King Albinus, if Basina moves against Amestris, then you must defend her. Get her safely out of the city, if the odds are too great to protect her with certainty, and take her to our kinfolk in Emessa."

Olaf frowned. "I know not where that place might be, for I am a stranger in this land, but I shall do my best," he promised. "None shall bar our path and live, and I am sure that Conan will know the way."

"He will," Damaspia agreed. She drew in a deep breath. "To know that two such mighty warriors shall be protecting her takes a great weight off my mind."

"But what of you?" asked Olaf. "You are her kinswoman. If enemies would strike at her, will they not strike at you also?"

Damaspia frowned. "They would not dare attack the High Priestess of Ishtar," she stated.

"Amestris does not believe that any would attack her," Olaf pointed out. "She turned down our offer to become her guards. You may be making the same mistake."

The frown on the face of the High Priestess grew deeper. "Perhaps," she conceded. "Yet I have loyal servants in the temple, and many believers in the city who would rise in revolt if I was harmed, and I think that I am safe enough. Amestris has only a small personal household."

"We shall protect you also, if the need arises," said Olaf.

"Thank you," said Damaspia, "but Amestris must be your main concern. Take good care of her, Olaf."

"I shall do so," Olaf promised. "Now I must return to the tavern, meet up with Conan, and inform him of our agreement. Farewell."

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Conan heaved against his chains. The weakness induced by the purple lotus juice had worn off by now but he could achieve nothing. The shackles would have restrained an elephant. Conan cursed his folly. He had fallen victim to the High Priest's scheme because he had let down his guard, believing that a priest of Mitra could be trusted, and had taken no precautions against poison. He had been more wary of Princess Amestris, glancing into the goblets before she poured out the drinks, and waiting until she drank before tasting his wine. Wasted precautions, for he was now certain that he could safely wager his soul on the girl's integrity; whereas Chilperic had repaid his trust with black treachery.

It was behavior most uncharacteristic for a priest of Mitra. He wondered if the High Priest was an impostor, a demon worshipper feigning allegiance to the most benign of the Hyborian gods, or if it was an excess of devotion that had inspired an unlovely fanaticism in Chilperic's breast. He shook his head and put aside such speculation. It mattered not; in either case he would deal with the matter, if he could only get free, by severing Chilperic's head from his shoulders.

How he would get free was another matter. If Chilperic sold him alive to enemies in Argos then no doubt an opportunity for escape would arise on the way. If only his head was required, to be transported salted in a keg, he could be slain whilst held helpless in chains.

Conan gave up his futile struggle to free himself. He allowed the chains to hang limp so that he could work out if the slack would give him enough length to swing as a flail should the priest, or one of his minions, come within reach. He grimaced in dissatisfaction. The chains were too short to be of use. For a moment he stood still and silent but then tensed. He had heard a noise from out of the darkness.

A long hiss of exhaled breath, a shuffling noise, and a metallic rattle; a sound not of chains, Conan judged, but rather the noise of some heavy body thrusting against a grille anchored within a groove in stone. A rank and feral scent reached the barbarian's sensitive nose. There was something else alive and captive within the recesses of the crypt. A beast, he sensed, and a ferocious one. The Mitran priest, it seemed, followed the customs of black magicians in other ways than the use of the juice of the purple lotus. There was a monster imprisoned here, in some dark and secret chamber, and to it the priest no doubt fed his enemies. Should Chilperic decide to take Conan's head then his body would be disposed of in some savage maw.

Conan sagged against the pillar to which he was chained. For a moment black despair threatened to overtake him. He could not free himself by his own abilities. His only hope, it seemed, was that Olaf would come in search of him. Yet the giant troll, although as mighty a warrior as Conan had seen, was perhaps not the sharpest sword in the scabbard. Would he be able to see through the wiles of the High Priest who had fooled Conan? Conan doubted it. He set his jaw and began to strive once more against his chains.

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Olaf sat alone at a table. The tavern was busy, and at other tables patrons were crowded together uncomfortably, but no-one had dared to sit with the giant. Olaf took a swig from his mug of ale and scowled. He had bathed, and devoured a gigantic meal, but there was still no sign of Conan and now it was after nightfall. What was keeping the barbarian? He had said nothing of going anywhere else after the Temple of Mitra, but had spoken of returning directly to the tavern; and surely he must have long since finished any business that he might have had with the priests.

"Move, ugly barbarian," a harsh voice broke in on Olaf's musings. "This table is needed by your betters."

Olaf raised his head and glared at the speaker. "Who claims to be my better, tiny man?" he asked, and stood up.

The man who faced him, now tilting his head right back in order to look Olaf in the face, was a soldier in scale mail and plumed helmet. Two others in like gear stood at his shoulders. He swallowed hard, taken aback by the revelation of Olaf's true size, and took half a pace back. He then gathered himself together and spoke once more. "I am Sulptius, a sergeant in the retinue of Count Eligius. Move yourself, giant, or we shall chastise you."

"Count Eligius, you say?" Olaf grinned mirthlessly. He reached out with a huge hand, seized the plumed helmet, and rotated it on the sergeant's head. The man's nose broke in the process and the blank rear of the helm covered his eyes. Olaf then slammed the blinded man into the wall of the tavern, winding him, and let him fall to the floor.

The other two guardsmen snatched for their swords. Olaf's fist shot out twice and the men toppled. "You may have this table, puny ones, for I am finished with it," he said, and he gathered up his hammer and shield and moved out into the room.

"Tell me, oh innkeeper," he called. "How will men know when the old king dies?"

The innkeeper stared at the heap of unconscious men at the vacated table. "You have made a bad enemy, barbarian," he warned Olaf, "for men say that Count Eligius will marry Princess Basina and become king. His followers will have power in the city and Sulptius will have you seized and thrown into jail."

"He can try," Olaf said. "Answer my question, innkeeper. What sign shall announce the king's death?"

"There is a great bell in the palace," the innkeeper replied. "It will toll for the king." He pursed his lips. "We expect to hear it soon, for it is said that he is gravely ill and his end draws near. No doubt it will strike in the early hours and wake me from my sorely-needed slumber."

"No doubt," Olaf agreed. "I must away and find Conan."

- 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 -

The High Priest recoiled from the huge figure who strode into the temple. "Mitra protect me!" he exclaimed. "What monster is this?"

"I am no monster," Olaf assured him, "merely a warrior of matchless might. I seek Conan, the Cimmerian. He was to meet me after visiting this temple. He is late for our meeting. Is he still here?"

The High Priest cast a nervous glance towards a door at the side of the temple. He ran his tongue over lips gone suddenly dry. "No," he told Olaf, "Conan departed long ago."

Olaf failed to recognize the signs that the priest might have something to hide. He had long since become accustomed to humans being nervous in his presence. A scowl spread across his face. "Where could he be? Did he say aught to you of where he was going, priest?"

"No," Chilperic began, and then an idea struck him. "Wait! I think he said that he was going to the Temple of Ishtar. If he is missing, I would advise you to look there, for the priests and priestesses of that dark goddess are cunning and treacherous."

Olaf's eyebrows lowered ominously. "Speak no evil of Priestess Damaspia, oh skinny one with a bald spot upon the crown of your head, for she is a fine woman."

Chilperic took a step backwards. He raised his hand to the top of his head, felt his hair, and then let his hand fall. "I meant no offense," he said. "I know nothing against her personally, but the cult of Ishtar is well known to be evil."

"Huh. Priests always speak ill of those of other gods," Olaf said. "Conan is not at that temple, thin priest, for I went there whilst he came to this place. Did he say anything else?"

"I cannot recall anything," Chilperic said. "Wait, let me think." He frowned, and made a show of scratching his head. "There was something. What was it? Give me but a moment, and I will have it."

"Very well, priest," Olaf grumbled, "but do not take too long."

"I will try to remember," the High Priest said. "Perhaps, whilst I am thinking, you would care for a goblet of wine?" His hand slipped within his robes and took hold of a small bladder, made from the intestines of a fish, filled with a rare and expensive liquid. The paralyzing juice of the purple lotus.

"Hah," said Olaf. His scowling expression lightened. "I never refuse wine, priest."

- 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 -

The single note of the great bell rang out from the palace and died away. Princess Amestris emerged from her house in the palace grounds, her Shemitish bodyguard padding at her heels, and walked quickly to the main palace building. She made her way through the palace corridors until she reached the royal chambers. There she saw her half-sister, standing near the door of the king's room, accompanied by her bodyguard and her suitor Count Eligius.

"Why was I not called?" Amestris queried sharply. "He may have paid me but little attention these past years but he was still my father. It is not right that I should learn of his death only from the bell that announces his passing to the whole city."

"I did not think of it, Amestris," Basina said, her cheeks coloring. Her lips parted to speak again, and her expression indicated that she was intending to utter an apology, but Count Eligius pre-empted her.

"Remember what I told you, majesty," he urged Basina. "Act at once."

The young princess opened her blue eyes wide. "Majesty? Me?"

"You are the queen now," Eligius reminded her. "No-one has the right to question you."

"I have not yet been crowned," Basina said.

"A mere formality," Eligius said. "The king is dead, and you are the queen." His eyes narrowed and he stared at Amestris. "Or you will be, as soon as you act to remove the only threat to your accession."

"I am no threat, Basina," Amestris assured her sister. "I have no desire to take the crown from you."

"She lies," Eligius hissed. "Who would not desire a crown? Her protestations are but falsehoods to conceal her plotting against you. Give the word, and I shall remove her." He clapped his hands twice. A dozen of his guardsmen filed out of a nearby room.

"The only plotting is that of Eligius," Amestris sneered. "He is a snake, Basina. Why do you think father would not consent to your marriage?"

"Eligius loves me," Basina protested.

"He loves only himself," Amestris shot back.

"Lies and slander!" Eligius exclaimed. "Her words are poison. Let me silence her lying tongue and ensure that your rule is unchallenged."

"Don't listen to him, Basina," Amestris pleaded. "I'm your sister. Would you begin your reign with a sororicide?"

"A what?" Basina's brow furrowed.

Amestris rolled her eyes. "The murder of your sister."

"She knows the word only because her thoughts have dwelt upon the act," Eligius claimed. "Let me at least have her imprisoned, that her plots can be investigated."

"Your advice is always good," Basina said. "Very well, Eligius, arrest her."

"Fool!" Amestris spat, as a triumphant sneer appeared on the face of Eligius and he waved his guards forward. "And I, too, am a fool. I should have hired Conan and Olaf." She backed away.

"Flee, my princess," her bodyguard counseled her. He drew his scimitar. "I shall hold them off."

Amestris retreated slowly. "You will perish, Cambytes," she warned him. "I do not want to bring death to one who has always been a faithful servant."

"What better death could there be than to fall defending a princess?" Cambytes responded. "And perhaps I might slay Eligius before I fall. Now run!" He charged forward, scimitar held high. "For Ishtar!"

Amestris whirled about and fled like the wind. She ran down one corridor and turned a corner into another. She saw a squad of guardsmen ahead; the Royal Guard, not those in the service of Eligius, and she opened her mouth to call to them for aid.

"Seize her!" the sergeant of the squad commanded his men. "The king is dead, and Basina will rule now," he expanded, as his men failed to rush to obey. "Eligius will reward us well for the capture of Amestris." The guardsmen nodded and fanned out to block the corridor.

"Traitor!" Amestris hissed. She heard the clash of steel behind her fall silent. Cambytes' fight against overwhelming odds must have ended in defeat and death.

"After her!" she heard Eligius shout, and then the thump of booted feet running. She was trapped between two forces.

To the side, however, was a window. It was head-high, and from her knowledge of the palace Amestris knew that the drop on the other side would be higher still, but she was lithe and supple, trained as a dancer at the Temple of Ishtar, and she feared the fall less than she feared the swords and spears of the guardsmen. She turned aside, grabbed the sill of the window, hoisted herself up, and leaped out even as a hand snatched at her legs. She bent her legs to take the shock as she landed but even so she stumbled and fell flat. The wind was driven from her body but she took no other injury. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for breath, and forced herself to run.

- 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 -

Olaf took the goblet from Chilperic's hand. Before he could raise it to his lips the note of a distant bell reached his ears. He paused. "The palace bell," he commented. "So, the old king has passed."

"That is so," said Chilperic. "May Mitra care for his soul."

Olaf lowered the goblet. "I must go," he said. "There is a task that I am sworn to perform."

"Drink your wine before you go," the High Priest urged. "It is a fine vintage."

"It would be a shame not to taste it," Olaf agreed, "but I may need a clear head for battle." He hesitated. "Still, one more drink will do no harm."

Chilperic could not prevent a smile of triumph from coming to his lips but Olaf was not looking at the priest and failed to notice the expression. He raised the goblet once more.

Before he could drink there was an interruption. Three men in priestly robes entered. One held a spear, one had a sword hanging at his waist, and another was engaged in fastening up a sword-belt as he walked. "The bell tolls," said the spear-carrier. "What are your orders, Holiness? Do we go to the palace?"

"Not now," Chilperic hissed.

Olaf's brows furrowed as he saw the newcomers. "From what Conan told me I judged Mitra to be like unto the White Christ of the Irish and Saxons of my world," he said. "Why would such priests carry swords?"

"For protection against thieves in the streets," Chilperic said smoothly. "Drink up, barbarian."

"You seem overly eager for me to drink," Olaf said, his eyes narrowing. He extended his arm holding the goblet. "I want to see you drink first, priest."

Chilperic shrugged. "Very well," he agreed, and raised his own goblet and drank.

"No," said Olaf. "From this one." Chilperic made no move to take the goblet. Olaf snarled, whirled around, and seized the acolyte who had just completed fastening his sword-belt. "You drink, then, priestling," Olaf ordered, "or I shall snap your scrawny neck."

The acolyte raised terrified eyes to his High Priest. "What shall I do, Lord?" he asked. "Save me from this giant, I beg you."

Olaf dashed the goblet into the man's face, shattering both vessel and the priest's jaw, and tossed the man to the ground. "Conan never left this temple," Olaf growled. "Where is he, priest? Tell me, or suffer the wrath of Olaf the Troll."

Chilperic's lip curled in a sneer. "He lies captive in the crypts below," he informed Olaf. He gestured towards a door. "The stairs down are that way. Descend, then, if you dare."

"There is nothing that Olaf does not dare," the troll boasted. "If this is a trick, puny priest, I shall tear off your arms and legs when I return."

"Conan is there, I swear by Mitra," Chilperic promised.

Olaf paused to snatch up his hammer, which he had laid aside when offered wine, and then strode through the indicated doorway. In the corridor beyond was a massive flagstone with an iron ring set into it. A steel rod hung from hooks in the wall beside the trapdoor. The intention was obviously for two men to thread the bar through the ring so that they could lift the heavy stone between them. Olaf simply grabbed the ring and heaved. He raised the flagstone effortlessly and flipped it over to reveal a dark aperture in which a flight of steps leading down could be seen. He entered the hole and descended the stairs.

Chilperic waited until the troll had passed out of sight and then followed him through the doorway. One of his acolytes remained behind, tending to the injured man, and the other tagged along behind the High Priest. "Should we replace the flagstone, and weight it to keep the barbarian trapped inside?" he suggested.

"You have seen his strength," Chilperic said. "We could not find weights enough to hold it firm against him in the time that it will take him to reach Conan and to return. No, I have a better plan." He walked past the trapdoor and into an alcove in which stood a wheel, mounted horizontally, with spokes that protruded past the rim and were shaped to provide handgrips. He took hold of one of the spokes. "Help me raise the grille," he commanded his acolyte, who promptly grasped a spoke at the other side. "We shall free the gray ape," Chilperic said, as the two men began to turn the wheel and a clink of chains sounded from below. "Nothing human can face that monster and live. We can forget about Conan, and his giant ally, and concentrate upon destroying the Temple of Ishtar."

- 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 -

Amestris lowered herself over the wall of the palace compound, hung at the full length of her arms, and then let go. She dropped four feet to the ground below, staggered as she hit the ground, but kept her footing. She ran quickly away from the palace until she reached an alley and ducked out of sight.

She rested, leaning against a wall, and gathered her strength. Inside a quarter of an hour she had gone from being a royal princess to being a hunted fugitive. There had been no chance for her to return to her own dwelling and she had no possessions with her other than the clothes on her back. Still, she was not without resources. Her aunt at the Temple of Ishtar would shelter her. All she had to do was to reach there. The only problem was that Eligius would know that the Temple would be her objective.

She sucked in her lower lip and bit on it. Was there anything else that she could do? She had not thought to ask the two barbarians for the name of the inn where they were staying. Searching the city for them, without that starting point, would be pointless. Better to make a run for the Temple of Ishtar and hope that Eligius had not had sufficient warning of the king's death to send men there already.

Amestris set off once more. She walked quickly through the alley, crossed a street, and entered the shadows of another narrow alleyway. There were no torch-brackets on the walls and only the lights from windows cast any light into the lane. When she reached half-way along the alley, in a section hidden from the eyes of the town guard who patrolled the streets, two figures stepped from a doorway.

"What have we here?" a male voice wondered. "A girl, and a pretty one at that, if the darkness does not deceive me."

"Pretty or not, what does it matter?" said another voice. "She will have the same slit between her legs."

"It is not for you," Amestris said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Let me pass."

"There is a toll to pay," said the man who had spoken first. "A kiss, shall we say?"

"We can start with that," said the other, "and then move on to other things." His hand dipped and rose again, and a glint of metal could be seen in the starlight. "Don't try to resist, my pretty, or I shall cut you." The knife moved from side to side.

Amestris recoiled, horrified, but even as she began to move back the first man leapt forward and grabbed for her arm.

- 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 -

Olaf made his way through the tunnels below the temple. It was as black as night and he had to walk bent over to avoid striking his head on the roof. "Conan?" he called. "Conan! Are you here?"

"This way," came an answering shout. "By Crom! I am glad indeed to hear your voice, Olaf."

Olaf quickened his pace. Before he could reach Conan a movement caught his eye. A figure loomed in the gloom; man-like in shape, but bulkier by far. Olaf's vision in the darkness was far better than a human's and he caught a glimpse of long arms, gray fur, and flashing white fangs as something hurtled towards him. There was no space in the tunnel to swing his hammer and all Olaf could do was to brace himself for the impact. Then the gray ape, the cannibal creature from the eastern shores of the Sea of Vilayet that preyed upon men and split their bones for the marrow, was upon him. Its long arms took hold and its fangs drove for Olaf's throat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Amestris kicked out, failing to connect solidly, but landing a glancing blow that was close enough to her target to cause the man who sought to seize her to recoil and miss his catch. She pulled back hastily, spun on her heel, and sprinted away. The two would-be rapists gave chase. The princess was growing tired, for she had ran far already this night, and she had also driven the breath from her body in a fall. Fear lent her wings, however, and she stayed ahead of her pursuers until she reached the street with its torches and passers-by.

Even as Amestris emerged into the street one of the footpads caught up with her and seized her by the arm. "Let go of me!" she cried.

"We have you now, girl," the man growled.

"Let her go," a man in the garb of a laborer spoke up. His swarthy skin and black beard showed that he was of Shemitish blood. He carried a spade, and he raised it as if to strike. Her assailant hesitated but did not release his grip. His companion, the knife-wielder, approached with his weapon poised.

"It is the princess!" another passer-by exclaimed. He pulled a short, curved, blade from his belt. "Get your hands off her, villain."

The footpad let go of her arm and backed away. His accomplice retreated into the alleyway. The one who had caught Amestris paused for only a moment before following his example.

"Are you all right, Princess?" asked the laborer.

Amestris smiled at him. "I am, thanks to you, and to you," she said. "I have no gold upon me to reward you, although you amply deserve it."

"It is enough to have aided you, Princess," said the laborer.

"I must reach the Temple of Ishtar," Amestris said. "Will you escort me there?"

"Of course, Highness," the blade-wielder assured her.

Amestris heaved a sigh as relief swept through her. It was short-lived.

"There she is," a voice cried. "Seize her!" A patrol of ten guardsmen jogged down the street in her direction.

The laborer glanced that way, grimaced, and turned back to Amestris. "They want you? I cannot fight the guard. Run, Princess."

"Perhaps we can hold them off for a short time," said the man with the curved knife.

Amestris shook her head. "Do not risk yourselves for me. You have done enough. Thank you again." She turned away and once again broke into a run. The guardsmen accelerated after her.

- 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 -

Olaf put his hand against the face of the ape and pushed. He was able to keep its fangs from his throat but could not break free of its crushing grasp. He brought up his other hand, holding the shaft of the hammer, and rammed the butt into the creature's side. It snarled and gave way slightly. Olaf struck again, driving the ape back half a pace, and was able to bring up the hammer to where he could take hold of the head with his other hand. He thrust forward with the shaft held between his hands, forcing it against the ape's neck, and gained enough space to bring the hammer sharply back and drive it forward again in a hard jab to the face.

The beast's grip on Olaf's body slackened. He struck again, and again, and the creature recoiled a full stride. Its grip broke altogether. Olaf half-turned and then spun back, delivering a mighty jab with the head of the war-hammer, crashing the steel full into the ape's jaw. It staggered and crashed into the wall of the tunnel.

The advantage was now firmly with Olaf. He could not gain room to swing the hammer in the confined space but was able to strike short blows with both head and butt. The ape backed away, its hideous countenance twisted in a silent snarl, and then it turned to flee. Olaf struck it upon the back of the neck and the beast fell on its face. Olaf grasped the hammer shaft with both hands and rammed it down upon the creature; once, twice, and then a third time. There was a horrid crunch of breaking bone and the ape lay still.

"By Odin," said Olaf, panting, "that was a struggle. The beast was as strong as a bear."

"A gray ape, I think," said Conan. "I can barely make it out in this darkness but it growled not, nor did it roar, and only the gray apes are silent killers. You are mighty indeed, Olaf, for I have never before heard of a man slaying such an ape without a stout spear. I am in your debt. If it had come upon me, unarmed and in chains, it would have torn me to pieces and feasted upon my bones."

"You saved me from a knife in the back," said Olaf. "I am glad that I could repay you." He made his way to where the barbarian was chained and began to strike at the shackles with his hammer. "Did the priest man trick you with poisoned wine?"

"He did," said Conan. That it had in fact been drugged fruit juice was, in barbarian eyes, an extra embarrassment and Conan was in no hurry to set Olaf right on that minor detail. "I feared that you would fall into the same trap."

"I nearly did," Olaf confessed, as he snapped one shackle and moved on to the next. "I saw priest-men with swords as I was about to drink. This seemed strange, from what you had told me of the priests of this god Mitra, and it occurred to me that the chief priest was too eager for me to drink."

"Did you slay the dog?" asked Conan.

"Not yet," said Olaf. "We shall do that next." He cracked another shackle and pried it open. "The king is dead," he informed Conan. "I heard the bell that announced it, and then the priest-men with swords came in. I wonder what they intend."

"Nothing good," said Conan. "Princess Basina will be a worshipper of Mitra, of that I am sure, and perhaps these Mitrans plan evil against Amestris."

"Or against the Temple of Ishtar," said Olaf. "Priestess Damaspia is a fine woman, with a body full ripe for merry sport, and I would not wish harm to come to her. She warned me that she suspected that there is a plot against Amestris and hired us to protect the girl." He broke the final shackle. "I fear that both of them may be in danger."

"You are no doubt right," said Conan, massaging his wrists and flexing his fingers. "There is little time to lose. I must find a sword, for the priest took mine, and then we shall rush to the rescue."

- 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 -

Amestris groaned in despair. She had evaded pursuit by patrols of guardsmen three times now, each time by a narrower margin, but eventually she had made her way to within sight of the Temple of Ishtar. It was surrounded and there was no way through. A dozen squads of guardsmen, some in the livery of the palace but most in the colors of Count Eligius, ringed the building. With them were two score robed priests of Mitra, bearing torches, and armed also with swords and spears most uncharacteristic for holy men of that church.

The princess withdrew into a quiet street, hoping that she would have no second encounter with rogues, and stopped to massage the calf of her right leg. It was tight and aching to the point where she feared that it would hamper her running. She needed a respite in which to recover her strength and make a plan. If she could not get through to the temple what could she do? No doubt there were many people in the city, mainly those of Shemitish stock and of the faith of Ishtar, who would shelter her, but she was loath to put them in danger.

The Shemites were in the majority in Yarmouk, although by a small margin, and made up most of the merchant class as well as much of the peasantry. The nobility and the soldiery, however, were almost entirely of Kothic blood. They had the training, the arms, and the armor. If Amestris had really intended to seize the throne she would have planned ahead and made sure that her supporters began by raiding the armories for weapons. Such had never been her intention, however, and she was still resolutely opposed to touching off a revolution or coup that could turn into a full-scale civil war.

Basina's Kothic faction, however, seemed to have no such scruples. The force surrounding the Temple of Ishtar seemed almost ready to launch a full-scale attack upon the building. Amestris feared that her aunt, who she loved as dearly as a mother, was also in dire peril. She could not, however, think of anything that she could do to save her; unless she could somehow locate the two mighty barbarian warriors whose services she had been foolish enough to turn down. With them at her side perhaps she could rescue Damaspia and they could flee the city together.

"I see her!" Once again a cry went up from a guardsman and once more Amestris was forced to run. This time her luck ran out. She ran around the corner and crashed straight into a mail-clad man-at-arms. His hands closed on her arms and she was caught. Before she could wriggle free another pair of hands fastened on her shoulders.

The squad of soldiers pursuing her rounded the corner and saw that the fugitive had been captured. "Good work," a sergeant praised her captors. "You shall be well rewarded. The assassin is taken!"

"Assassin?" Amestris opened her eyes wide in surprise. "What do you mean? I am Princess Amestris, and no assassin."

"Do not pretend innocence, Princess," said the sergeant. "All know that you tried to murder our beloved Princess Basina so that you could take the throne that is rightfully hers. Only through the vigilance of Count Eligius was your evil scheme foiled."

"These men are foolish as well as puny," a new voice, one that Amestris recognized at once, broke in. "If Amestris had plotted to kill her sister then the skinny fair one would be dead and Count Eligius would be rotting in the dungeon where he belongs."

"Olaf!" Amestris cried.

"Silence, dog of a…" the sergeant began, turning to face the newcomer. His voice trailed away as he saw the massive warrior who faced him.

"A giant!" exclaimed one of the soldiers.

Another fixed his eyes on the shorter, but still impressive, figure of a man who stood beside the huge Olaf. "It is Conan of Cimmeria," the guardsman warned his companions. "I saw him fight once. Five men he slew in five heartbeats."

"Set the princess free, soldier," Conan ordered. "She is no assassin." He raised a broadsword high; his own, retrieved from the chamber of High Priest Chilperic. "There is evil afoot in this city, it is true, but it is not Amestris who is behind it."

"Then who?" asked the sergeant.

Before Conan could reply a trio of new soldiers reached the scene. "It is him!" cried one, a sergeant whose plumed helmet was dented and whose nose was flattened and crusted with dried blood. "The giant who attacked me! He is in league with the assassins! Take them!" He charged with drawn sword and the other soldiers joined him.

Conan's sword crashed down. The blade sheared through a helm and dropped a man dead in his tracks. The barbarian pulled his sword free and lashed out again, ripping through a mail shirt and leaving another man dead, and then thrust out to slay a third.

Olaf whirled his hammer about his head and brought it down and across in a blow that smashed through a shield and caved in the bearer's chest. He struck once more, cracking a skull, and then smote Sulptius the sergeant with a killing blow to the head.

Conan slew a fourth man, and a fifth. Olaf stunned a soldier with a glancing blow that was partially turned by the man's helmet but then struck another so powerfully that his victim was lifted from his feet and hurled through the air.

A man who tried to get behind Olaf was run through by Conan. A moment later Olaf returned the favor by intercepting one who tried to dive at Conan's legs from the rear. Olaf's booted foot stopped the man as if he had struck a stone wall.

Then the remaining soldiers realized that the bodies on the ground now outnumbered those still standing and lost heart. They backed away, their swords and spears sagging in their hands, and appeared to be on the brink of turning to flee.

The one who had hold of Amestris brought up his sword and held it in front of her throat. "Lay down your arms and surrender, barbarians," he commanded, "or I shall slay the princess."

Neither of the two men made any move to obey. "That is a foolish threat, and pointless," said Conan, "for if you were to carry it out we would strike you dead upon the instant."

"Let her go," Olaf ordered, "or I shall tear open your ribs and lay your lungs upon your back like the bloody wings of an eagle."

Conan raised an eyebrow. "An impressive threat, Olaf, I must remember it."

"It is one of the customs of my people," said Olaf. "Now, puny soldier, release the beautiful princess, as I have told you, or feel pain beyond measure."

The guardsman ran his tongue across his lips. "I shall take Princess Amestris back to the palace," he said. "Queen Basina shall decide her fate. Do not try to stop me."

Olaf growled and raised his hammer, taking a step forward, and the soldier recoiled.

At that moment Amestris acted. She thrust with both her hands against the guardsman's sword arm, taking him by surprise and forcing the weapon outward and up away from her throat, and dropped down out of his grip upon her shoulder. Before he could seize her again Olaf's hammer whistled through the air and struck the side of his head. The surviving guardsmen turned and fled into the darkness.

"By Odin," said Olaf, "you are a fine woman indeed. No simpering damsel who waits to be rescued, but one who takes matters into her own hands." He reached out a hand and helped Amestris to regain her feet.

"Thank you, Olaf, and Conan," said Amestris. She flung her arms around Olaf and hugged him in a gesture of gratitude. Her breasts pressed against him, hardly above his waist, and she felt something stirring and pressing back against her lower down. "Oh Olaf," she said, her eyes widening, "You are a virile warrior indeed. A very Bull of Heaven."

Conan gave a snort of mirth. "It seems that three times shall not be the charm for me after all," he said, "and it is you who shall win the prize this time."

"We shall see," said Olaf, "but there is yet more to be done before either of us may celebrate victory by indulging in merry sport."

"Yes," said Amestris, releasing Olaf and stepping back, "for the Temple of Ishtar is surrounded and my aunt Damaspia is in peril."

"This would be the work of Chilperic the High Priest of Mitra," Conan observed. "I have a bone to pick with that priest, and he shall find the picking painful indeed." He saw new figures approaching, a dozen bearded men in common clothes, and challenged them. "Who are you, and what is your purpose here?"

"We are worshippers of Ishtar, Lord," said one of the men. "The Mitrans threaten our temple, but we could do nothing without weapons." He bent to retrieve a sword dropped by one of the guards felled by Conan and Olaf. "Now we have swords." He bowed to Amestris. "Command us, Highness."

"There are a hundred men around the temple," said Amestris, "but none to match our two mighty barbarians, and Damaspia will have a score of armed priests within. I think a rescue is within our power, if you will lead us, Conan and Olaf."

"Of course," said Conan. "Take up shields as well as swords, townsmen, and if you can find bows and slings that would be to our advantage."

"Follow us to battle, townspeople," said Olaf, "and smite these priests of Mitra. We shall teach them not to molest innocent dancing girls and priestesses."

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"The licentious, dissolute, profligate, wicked, shameless, degenerate, depraved," Chilperic declaimed, "and debauched – or did I already say debauched?"

"You did not, Holiness," an acolyte assured him.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. The cult of Ishtar, guilty of all the sins that I have listed, must be expunged from our fair city," the High Priest resumed his tirade. "Break down the temple doors, slay their false priests, and cast down their blasphemous altars."

The guardsmen paid little attention to Chilperic's words. They were already engaged in battering their way into the temple. The main doors were solidly constructed, and firmly barred, but they were beginning to give way as soldiers rammed them again and again with the trunk of an uprooted palm tree. The small side doors, reached by short flights of narrow steps and thus less accessible to forced entry, were guarded by squads of spearmen in case of sorties or attempts to escape.

"Smite the unbelievers," continued Chilperic. "Deface their obscene idols, with their naked breasts shamelessly flaunted in defiance of all that is good and decent…"

"Villain!" Conan's voice boomed out. "False priest!"

Chilperic turned and drew himself up to his full height. "How dare you thus accuse me! Slayer, thief, and bloody-handed reaver, you have no place in the civilized lands."

Conan flexed his mighty muscles and held his broadsword high. "A barbarian who treacherously drugged one who had come to him in good faith would be banished from his tribe. If that is your 'civilization' I want no part of it. Tell me, priest, where in the creed of Mitra are such actions condoned? I have met priests of Mitra in other cities and always have I found them honest, and true of word, and not eager for the blood of those of other faiths. You are a traitor to your god, priest, and that is the blackest treachery of all."

"Lies and calumnies!" spat Chilperic. "Slay this rebel!"

Even as some of the guardsmen rushed forward to obey him Olaf, at the head of a half-dozen Shemite townsmen, fell upon the group who watched one of the temple side doors. His hammer whirled with deadly effect, shattering shields and skulls alike, and the townsmen pounced on the guards who scattered before Olaf's fury.

Conan's broadsword swung. A soldier fell, and then another, and an arrow from out of the dark pierced one who tried to circle Conan to take him from the rear.

The side door opened and a file of bearded priests, with shields and tulwars in their hands, emerged to join Olaf's men. Damaspia, armed for war with a gilded shield and a long spear, brought up the rear. The combined force sallied forth and fell upon the guards who were attacking Conan.

The Cimmerian hacked his way through guardsmen and acolytes of Mitra until there were none between him and Chilperic. The High Priest turned to flee and found his way barred by Olaf's forces. "Have mercy!" he squealed, turning back to face Conan.

"Hah! What mercy did you have upon me?" the barbarian retorted. His broadsword flashed and the priest's head leaped from his shoulders, fell upon the ground, and rolled away.

The forces surrounding the temple still outnumbered those under Conan and Olaf by more than two to one. They were spread out over a wider area, however, and shaken by the ferocity of the barbarians. There was a short and furious clash, in which one of the priests of Ishtar and two of the armed townsfolk fell, but then the guardsmen fled leaving two dozen of their number dead behind them.

"So, Conan of Cimmeria," Damaspia addressed the barbarian, "you are indeed a warrior as mighty as your reputation would have it."

"And you are as fine a woman as Olaf described," said Conan, expanding his chest. "I am glad that I was able to be of service to you."

"Perhaps you may be of service to me in… other ways later, oh Conan," said Damaspia, smiling, "but first we must set things right in this city."

"Count Eligius wants me dead," said Amestris. "The guards have been told that I tried to slay Basina." She pursed her lips. "I want no civil strife, but there seems to be not yet any general hue and cry, and perhaps if we act swiftly we may nip this affair in the bud before too much harm is done."

"Indeed," said Damaspia. "With Conan and Olaf at our sides we can force a hearing. Let us go at once to the palace and demand an accounting."

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Basina opened her blue eyes very wide. Creases appeared on her forehead. "I do not understand," she said. "Amestris did not try to slay me."

"Only because I discovered her plot before it could come to fruition," Count Eligius said smoothly. When Amestris had last seen him, outside the king's chamber, he had been wearing formal robes. Since then he had donned full plate armor. "Now she brings armed men to invade the palace. Her evil intent is proven beyond all doubt."

"And were you not the first to bring armed retainers into the palace?" Amestris retorted. "When I last came to the palace, upon hearing the bell toll for our father and accompanied by but one man, I had to flee for my life. This time I do not make the same mistake."

"I won't let you take my throne," said Basina.

Amestris rolled her eyes. "I do not want the throne, Basina. Were I to be queen I would have to marry in accordance with the requirements of the state, and not of my heart, and if I were to take a lover without marriage it would be a great scandal. As it is, if I should choose to reward Olaf for his services by taking him to my bed, then it is no-one's business but ours."

Olaf grinned widely. Conan gave him a wry smile and shrugged his mighty shoulders.

"Olaf?" Basina's eyes opened even wider. "But he is ugly, and of more than human size! Conan may be also a savage barbarian but at least he is a handsome one."

"I have been called ugly too often, on account of my nose, to worry overmuch about looks," said Amestris, "and I do not think that Olaf's size will be a disadvantage in the bedchamber." She glanced aside at the troll, her gaze lingering below his waist for a moment, and she smiled. "Quite the reverse."

Basina blushed and changed the subject. "Yet you have said that you think that I will make a poor queen," she said. "You have said it to my face. Why should I not think that you wish the throne for yourself?"

"You have never learned to think, sister," Amestris said bluntly, "for always have you been given what you desired because of your beauty and your status. You do not have the knowledge to rule wisely. You must choose wise counselors, from amongst those who served our father faithfully, and heed their advice. Only thus can you rule successfully. And you must not marry Eligius." She narrowed her eyes and stared at the Count. "If you do it would not surprise me if you were to suffer a fatal accident thereafter, leaving him as the king and the city in his sole hands."

"Witch! Liar!" Eligius spluttered. "I shall silence your venomous mouth."

"Touch her and die," Olaf rumbled.

"Eligius is not faithful to you, Basina," Damaspia put in. "I know this, for his lover sought advice from me on how to avoid conceiving his child."

Eligius snarled. His jaw tightened and he cast a quick glance from side to side. He had ten of his own men with him, including a mercenary from Nemedia in full plate armor who served as his own personal bodyguard, and there were a score of the Royal Guard to hand. Damaspia had left the armed townsmen and half of her priests behind at the temple, to protect the priestesses and dancing girls in case of any further attack, and there were only ten armed priests and the two barbarians accompanying the High Priestess and Princess Amestris. The odds were with Eligius, it seemed, and he decided to act.

"Slay the traitors!" Eligius yelled. "Attack them!" He closed the visor of his helm and drew sword, confident that his superior armor would more than compensate for the advantages of size and strength held by the barbarians, and advanced. He took the precaution, however, of making sure that he stayed behind his bodyguard.

Swords in the hands of the guardsmen clashed against the tulwars of Damaspia's priests. Conan sprang to bar the path of the Nemedian mercenary, who was making for Damaspia, and his broadsword lashed out at the man's helm. The bodyguard raised his shield to block the blow, but Conan's strike was but a feint; the Cimmerian twirled his sword around and under the shield to take his opponent in the body.

The plate armor held against the sword, bending but protecting its wearer from the cutting edge that would have torn through his flesh, but the sheer savage force of Conan's blow sent the mercenary reeling back. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Conan leapt forward, raised his sword in both hands, and drove it down. This time the armor failed and the blade pierced through. The mercenary cried out, thrashed his limbs, and died.

Basina recoiled in panic. "Protect me!" she cried out to the Royal Guard. They rushed to obey, clustering around the princess, and this meant that Eligius had only his own men with him in his attack. His plan had misfired right from the start.

The priests, although lighter armored than the guardsmen, held their own; for Ishtar was a goddess of war as well as of love, and the priests were all well drilled in the arts of combat. The Nemedian mercenary, whose armor would have been impervious to the slim blades of the priests' tulwars, had fallen to Conan. Eligius found himself face to face with the towering figure of Olaf.

"Tiny man, you are clad in steel as if you were a black Bohuslän lobster," said Olaf, "but it will do you no good, for I shall crack your shell. Although I shall not boil you, nor split you lengthways with a sharp knife and remove your claws and legs." He grinned. "Or, on second thoughts, perhaps I shall indeed do that."

"Monster!" Eligius spat out, his voice muffled by the helm. "You cannot prevail against a true knight." He flourished his sword, a slim dueling weapon, and thrust forward.

Olaf struck the sword with his hammer and shattered the blade. "If you find a true knight, puny one, let me know," he said, and raised the hammer high. Eligius turned to run but the armor made him far too slow to escape. Olaf brought the hammer down in a mighty blow that shattered the steel helm and crushed the Count's skull.

"Hold!" Amestris shouted. "Eligius is dead. Let that be an end to the fighting."

The battling guards and priests lowered their weapons.

"Then you are not going to kill me?" Basina quavered from behind her guards.

"I am not best pleased with you at the moment, sister," said Amestris, "but I do not wish you harm." She smiled. "Well, I might wish to give you a hard slap, but I shall restrain myself out of respect for your position."

"Eligius is dead," Basina said.

"That is stating the obvious," said Amestris, "for there is but little left of him above the neck."

Basina grimaced and looked away. "Then who shall I marry?"

"There is no need to rush into marriage," Damaspia spoke up. "Take your time and choose wisely."

Basina took no notice. "Katalogos of Argos is wealthy and handsome," she mused, "although he came not in person to court me, sending only his portrait."

"Invite him to visit, then," suggested Amestris. "You can always send him back if he does not live up to the description." Her lips tightened. "There are more urgent matters that must be dealt with. First you must announce that I am no assassin and call off the hunt for me."

"I shall do so at once," Basina agreed.

"You will need to find a replacement for the High Priest of Mitra," Amestris went on, "for Conan has cut off the head from the old one."

"He was a poor excuse for a Mitran," said Conan, as Basina cast a horrified glance in his direction. "Send to Ophir or Aquilonia for one who follows the true principles of the Mitran church."

"And send out orders that there are to be no further attacks upon the Temple of Ishtar," Damaspia recommended, "for I have in mind tasks for Conan that he will, I trust, find more pleasant than cutting off heads."

"I am sure that I will," Conan agreed.

"I shall do so at once," Basina said. "I am sorry, Amestris, I let Eligius sway me into acting without thought. Will you forgive me?"

"Very well," said Amestris, "I forgive you, and I shall hold back from giving you the spanking that you deserve."

"But what will you do, if it is not your wish to become queen?" asked Basina.

"In the long term," said Amestris, "perhaps I shall take over as High Priestess at the Temple of Ishtar when Damaspia tires of the role. At this moment, however, I plan to take the mighty Olaf back to my chambers and to give him proper thanks for his deeds."

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"You are indeed beautiful," said Olaf, as Amestris shed her clothes and her full breasts were revealed in all their naked glory. "Spirited too, and brave, indeed in all respects you are the finest woman I have ever met."

"And you are a man most manly," said Amestris, running her fingers over Olaf's naked body. "The horns are an unusual feature, true, but I can think of circumstances in which they would make a useful handhold."

"Circumstances like this?" asked Olaf, lowering his head and putting his mouth to work.

"Yes," Amestris agreed, squirming, and taking hold of his horns. "Yes! Oh, yes!"

Olaf concentrated for a few moments upon giving her pleasure and then picked her up and laid her on the bed beside him. "I had feared that you would choose Conan," he said, as he took up a position above her, "for he is as fine a man as I, and better looking, and I know that he admires you also."

"Indeed he is a worthy hero," said Amestris, "but I chose you, and I do not regret my choice. I think that he will be well enough pleased with Damaspia, for she is skilled in the arts of love. Now, Olaf, enough talk. Take me!"

Olaf obeyed. They moved together in passion, sharing deep kisses, for many minutes of intense pleasure. At last both cried out in ecstasy and their movements ceased.

"By Odin," said Olaf, panting, "that was pleasure almost beyond bearing." He moved from above Amestris to beside her, one arm around her shoulders, and lay still.

"Mmm," murmured Amestris. "You are a lover tender and considerate, mighty and yet gentle, and I would wish to spend many nights in your arms. I know that Conan has said that he plans to leave here soon, to fight the Picts, and that he wishes you to accompany him. Will you go, or will you stay here with me?"

"I am a warrior," said Olaf, "and must go forth to battle and plunder. Yet if I go with Conan it shall only be for a time, and I shall return to you after I have pillaged the lands of the Picts and burned their crops and dwellings. And, for your sake, I shall make no merry sport with such daughters of the Picts as I might find, even should they be attractive, for none could compare with you, my Amestris."

"That is good to hear, Olaf," said Amestris. "May the time until you go be long and the time that you are away be short." She snuggled close to him and laid her cheek upon his chest. "I shall sleep now."

"As shall I," said Olaf. "Hah! My anger at the witch who banished me to this world, claiming that she was sending me to the Land of the Trolls, was hot indeed; and yet now my anger has gone, and I could even kiss her, for she has done me a great service. Truly I could have found myself in no better place, and certainly with no better woman."

Amestris made no reply, for she had fallen into a deep and contented sleep.

**The End**


End file.
